


free fall

by bearold



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drabble Collection, Gen, Non-Linear Narrative, Trauma, idk im emo abt thor, listen thor was traumatized but no one ever talks abt it, so here is my solution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearold/pseuds/bearold
Summary: He remembers feeling strong. Untouchable. Grounded.But then his world literally crumbled beneath his feet.Or: an exploration of Thor between Infinity War and Endgame, trying to delve more into his trauma and unearth some of the angstier bits
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	free fall

_You should’ve gone for the head._

When Thanos says those seven words, Thor feels his entire body freeze. A chill crawls over his skull and panic bursts in his chest— and then Thanos snaps. 

(his fault his fault his fault)

* * *

He doesn’t remember much of the aftermath. It’s like some alarm is blaring distantly at the back of his mind, washing everything in red and he knows he’s supposed to feel something right now (he does, he does he does the _guilt—_ ) but he locks everything that threatens to overwhelm him behind a locked door. All his grief, all his shock, his terror and panic and hurt—he keeps it locked behind iron chains. He speaks briefly with his teammates, each of them lost in their grief, and forces every emotion down viciously. He can’t afford to feel anything right now. His people (what’s left of them) need him right now. 

He can do this. He can do this one thing, he can stop failing for one goddamned _second_ and keep his people together. 

And he does. He takes care of what’s left of his people, his home. With Valkyrie (thank the stars, thank the stars for her) he settles his people along a cliffside, helps them try and find a new normal. He comforts those who cry, soothes their anguish where he can, gives them structure and purpose, and hopes to the gods above that it’s enough. Slowly, painfully, they adjust. There are days, weeks, at first, when the gears that have stopped refuse to turn—and how could he force them to? They need time. But slowly, painfully, they begin to turn again. And life begins its hesitant trek forward. 

Facing the sea at the edge of that cliff, he breathes in mist and tries to pretend the dampness on his face is just salty seawater. 

* * *

“… you want me to do it?” she asks incredulously. “Your Highness—"

She says it like she always says it, like it's a nickname, like she’s teasing him by never calling him by his real name, but hearing it still makes a bitter laugh escape his lips. It’s humorless, but he tosses his head to the side like there’s some mirth to it. When he gives her a strained smile though, he knows she sees right through him. 

“Just—just take care of it, Valkyrie.” he says tightly, a note of dismissal in his voice, but his eyes don’t leave hers, and she sees the pain in them. 

She swallows hard, feeling slightly unmoored. Not as if she’s floating off… but as if she’s watching as he cuts a tether and begins to float away. She’s not equipped to deal with this. Ten hells, the way she dealt with it herself was drinking away her every thought for hundreds of years. 

So she’ll help in the only way that he can ask her. 

“Alright. I’ll take care of it. Guess that means _you’ll_ have to start calling _me_ ‘highness’ then huh?” she tries, hoping he’ll tease her back in their familiar ribbing and some spark will come back to his—eye. But he just huffs softly as he turns away. 

“I suppose so.”

* * *

Those iron chains around his memories begin to creak as the door threatens to burst open. He strains to keep it closed as long as possible. 

But finally, inevitably, they break. 

He begs Stormbreaker to take him somewhere isolated, secluded, and suddenly he’s in an empty field of long-dead wheat. The second his knees touch the ground, he howls as his power explodes from outstretched fingers. Thunder splits the sky and shakes everything around him, droplets pelting down, and there’s a vortex swirling around him, dark clouds and sparks of lightning and rain like knives across his skin. His power rages around him, and only then, finally then, he breaks. His sobs tear through his chest and the pain is so great he thinks he can feel his ribs splintering. He screams into the sky, and his agony is lost on the wind as the storm howls on.

* * *

Sometimes he thinks he’ll drown in it. Everything hurts. Grief and terror and guilt-- he chokes on them. Like they’re clawing at his throat, trying to rip him open. He’s lost—he’s lost so many people, so much, that it threatens to send him to his knees and never get back up. His mother, his father, Heimdall, Loki, Fandral and Volstagg and Hogun and Sif, his home, his planet, Jane, anything he’d ever owned except for the clothes on his back, his team, his people, billions of people—

He’s lost everyone who’s known his heart. Who’d known him, loved him. 

He’s alone now. 

How could it be, that one person could endure this much? He doesn’t think he can. Not much longer, not without any hope on the horizon. And… does he really deserve to? Maybe this pain is punishment for all of his failings. He’s doomed the world. 

Perhaps he deserves to suffer. 

(a small part of his brain protests at this. no one deserves suffering, and hadn’t he done everything in his power to—)

But that voice is drowned in his guilt. It’s not long before he stops hearing it entirely. 

* * *

The first time he gets rip roaring drunk after it all is the first time he feels some semblance of peace. Somehow, the mead softens the edges of his pain and the relief is so addicting that he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Not when this is the only thing that makes the pain ease up, even if just partially, even if for just a second. So he doesn’t. He drinks and drinks until his vision swims, until he can’t hold his head up anymore, and he’s never been more grateful to sink into unconsciousness in his entire life. 

* * *

His nightmares before the snap, of Ragnarok, are in almost explicit detail. He sees the crown of Surtur fall into the Eternal Flame, sees Asgard burn as the demon laughs. They make sense, for the most part, like he’s been dropped in the middle of a memory. The scenes play out in front of him, around him, albeit a little blurry around the edges.

His nightmares after the snap… are terrifying. It’s like he can’t wake up, like his guilt manifests itself as a physical weight on his chest that he can’t overcome (like someone has set Mjolnir on his unworthy skin, like it presses down down down trying to crush him beneath) screams and death and flashes of faces he loved, panic that races along his nerves and rips them raw. 

He wakes up screaming. 

* * *

It’s just easier, he tells himself. It’s easier to never think about it, to keep those iron chains strapped across the door in his mind--it’s easier to never think about it. With every day that goes by, he feels less and less like himself. Maybe at the end of it, there will be nothing left. (Wouldn’t that be the sweetest relief?)

* * *

He comes to with a cheek pressed against the cold tile of the washroom. The world spins around him and he wants nothing more than to sink into it, let it spin him into sleep like he’s done almost every other night. But tonight, something feels wrong. The beer sits heavy in his gut. Bile burns at the back of his throat and he feels…disgust. 

It takes him a while to realize that he’s disgusted with _himself._

He spends the night vomiting into the toilet, and for the first time, he truly hates himself. 

* * *

They come to visit. It didn’t even take them very long, all things considered. Banner and Steve and even Natasha arrive at his front doorstep and for a moment, he wants to slam the door in their faces. 

But… these are his teammates. His friends. 

He wishes they didn’t have to see him like this. 

But when they ask, when they ask about him, he lies like it’s second nature. His face morphs into a mask he doesn’t recognize, but he does notice how it puts them all at least a little bit at ease. Steve quirks his familiar half smile, Natasha regards him as coolly as ever, and even Banner gives him a nervous grin. They’re disappointed, sure (shouldn’t they be?) but they’re satisfied that at least he’s… alright. Not good, not like before, but he’s alright.

They don’t have to worry. 

His cheeks ache, he hasn’t used these muscles in months (how long has it been) but the mask doesn’t slip. He won’t let it. He loves them, stars above of course he loves these people, but… they’re not his people. They care for him, but they don’t know him, not like—

The door slams shut on that thought. 

And soon enough they take their leave, and Steve rests a hand on his shoulder and gives him a tired, warm look. Makes him promise to return their calls from now on (oh, so that’s how these blasted devices work! Truly these human technologies—) and to reach out if he ever needs anything. Something in him is soothed at the idea, of telling them how far he’s sunk but. 

They’re better off not knowing. 

* * *

Worthy. Worthy worthy worthy, he wants to spit in the face of anyone who thinks that of him, who’s ever thought that of him, wants to tear the word from his brain and forget he ever knew what it meant. 

He wants to carve it into his arm in blood and scars because he _was_ that once. 

There was a version of himself that was worthy and good and strong and if he forgets that then he might as well give in to the call of the void across the edge of that cliff. 

He wants to remember. 

Stars above know he doesn’t believe it, hasn’t since his axe touched Thanos's chest, but.

He doesn’t want to forget. 

* * *

He remembers feeling strong. Untouchable. Grounded. 

But then his world literally crumbled beneath his feet.

He’s been in free fall ever since 

(he wonders when he’ll finally hit the ground)

**Author's Note:**

> thor is one of my favorite characters in the mcu, i just felt like he got reduced to comedic relief so quickly in end game :/ just an attempt to flesh him out a bit more!!
> 
> pls forgive my excessive use of parentheses lmao, and feedback always appreciated!!


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